


In This Together

by Awilding



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20769092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awilding/pseuds/Awilding
Summary: During their search to find Jamie, an untimely encounter compels Claire and Murtagh to return to the caves to seek refuge. Their pursuit interrupted, Claire and Murtagh’s companionship is put to the test as they must rely on each other to make it through several days of considerable challenges.Set within the 14th episode of Season 1, "The Search".





	1. An Unlucky Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> With the amount of time that Claire and Murtagh spent on the road together, I can't help but imagine the untold chapters of their story, the unexplored dimensions of their relationship together… 
> 
> This is my very first story. I hope you enjoy reading my vision for what might have been; the additional chapters of Claire and Murtagh's journey across the Scottish Highlands.

Claire hastened up the embankment into the cover of the wooded area, twigs snapping beneath her feet. The cool morning air was dense with moisture, droplets of water tipping off the foliage and cascading on to her hair and face and the back of her neck, sending a chill down her spine.

She lifted her heavy skirt to keep from tripping and at once she wished that she had chosen to wear pants today. Pants, a blouse, jacket and hat had been a recent disguise; a male entertainer, as she played her part as _The Sassernach_, singing and travelling to unknown villages in hopes of finding Jamie, her love and her husband.

Jamie. The thought of him delivered a wave of longing that shook her to her core. Like a fierce hunger, she yearned to feel his warm touch, to see his comforting smile, to hear word that he was alright. The feeling built up inside her and morphed into sickness and she stopped abruptly. Grasping a tree, she hunched over and vomited.

Was it equal parts worry and morning sickness? She wasn’t sure. Since leaving Lallybroch, she had become aware of the biological signs that told her that she was carrying Jamie’s child. What a cruel twist of fate, learning of this miracle in the exact days in which Jamie had been ambushed and went missing. Or perhaps it wasn’t cruelty, but a gift, given at the exact time she needed it, urging her to be strong and move forward.

As her nausea subsided, Claire straightened and leaned against the tree in support. She exhaled and began taking in her surroundings. Through the trees she could see the path they rode in on. She could see her horse and her travel companion, Murtagh, still mounted upon his horse, waiting for her.

Murtagh patted the horse and stroked its mane, which was almost as unruly as his own hair. Murtagh’s face was shrouded with thick facial hair. His hazel eyes and heavy eyebrows conveyed a slightly uneasy expression as he scanned the trail on which they were riding.

Moments earlier Claire had asked for a break from riding when she felt her nausea arise to a point she could no longer ignore; her second time stopping to be sick that morning. Not knowing the real reason for the break, Murtagh nodded, but not without an irritated expression to indicate that she was holding them up from reaching their destination, a village called Ardmair, to which they should have already been halfway.

However, Claire could feel the way Murtagh’s composure towards her had softened compared to days earlier. Last night, for the first time, Murtagh had opened up to her about his concern for Jamie and love for Jamie’s late mother. And while Claire could sense that their relationship was changing from ill-matched travel companions to something that resembled friendship, it remained unspoken between them.

Claire began making her way down the hill when she heard a sudden shout. Startled, she halted and crouched behind a tree. Heart pounding, her wide eyes scanned the scene for Murtagh. A flash of red was in front of him and she moved so she could see. It was a Redcoat, a British Soldier, but just one—a young fellow. He was pointing his musket at Murtagh, who was still atop his horse.

Claire’s hand instinctively went to the dagger in her garter as she watched the tense moment unfold. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she tried to think of how to react. But before she could, Murtagh drew his sword in a flash and the Redcoat, whether intentionally or not, fired the gun into the air. Murtagh’s horse reared in shock, throwing its rider off backwards onto the ground.

At that, Claire leapt up, grabbing the dagger from her garter, and flew down the slope, her mind a rush with thoughts, while also somehow devoid of them. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she crept closer, crouching behind the foliage close to the road, her presence still unnoticed.

The soldier instantly took advantage of his upper hand, and with Murtagh on the ground, he thrust the bayonet of his musket into Murtagh’s shoulder of the arm which still clutched his sword, pinning the shoulder to the ground. Murtagh hollered in pain as the bayonet pierced his flesh, letting out a steady stream of profanities at the soldier who seemed pleased but also uncertain of his next course of action. Murtagh’s anxious horse whinnied and moved with nervous, erratic movements.

Incensed at the act of brutality against her comrade, Claire saw her opportunity to help and seized it, sweeping silently upon the attacker from behind. Enraged, she held her knife firmly to the soldier’s neck.

“Drop the gun this instant or I will cut your throat,” she heard her voice say, her speech wavering slightly.

Murtagh fell silent, his eyes wide. The soldier cocked his head slightly to try to get a peripheral view of the person holding a knife to his throat. He hesitated, evidently wondering whether to call her bluff, and there was a moment when they all waited in silence, wondering who would make the next movement.

Fearing it would be the soldier, Claire’s pace quickened, and she tightened her grip. She was prepared to do what she needed to in order to protect them; to allow them to continue their search for Jamie.

“Ah fuck it,” she said aloud and began to dig the knife into the soldier’s throat. He made a noise in fear and pain and pulled the bayonet from Murtagh’s shoulder and dropped it to the ground. Murtagh swore in Gaelic.

Claire released her grip, and swiftly picked up the musket, now pointing the blood-stained bayonet at the soldier who faced her, clutching his neck. Now she was faced with a choice.

“Please,” The soldier was wide-eyed. Backing up, he held one hand out to her. “I promise, I will just go back to camp, I will leave you be. Please, spare me!”

“You will leave us be?!” Claire voiced in rage, “You just impaled my companion, why should I let you live?” She raised the gun higher to take aim.

“Please, you’re British! Spare my life and I won’t tell a soul. You have my word!” pleaded the soldier and Claire could see in that moment how young he was; a fresh soldier in training. This may have even been his first altercation. She could tell he was filled with shame and regret, waiting for his young life to be ended by a woman, let alone one who was supposed to be on his side.

Claire could feel her stance faltering, and the soldier may have sensed it too, because he suddenly turned and took off into a staggered run. And after a couple seconds Claire knew the moment had passed and she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to shoot him in the back.

With the soldier all but out of sight, she turned to Murtagh who still lay on the ground, a patch of blood seeping through his clothing below the collarbone. “Why dinna ye shoot the bastard?,” He said gruffly, his brows furrowed in anger. “Yer too damn soft, ye ken that woman?”

“You’re welcome for saving your life,” Claire retorted, as she knelt beside him to assess the damage. “What kind of soldier keeps a bayonet on his gun?” She murmured spitefully.

“One lookin’ to start a fight,” grumbled Murtagh looking up at the sky, shaking his head at the situation.

“Hold still,” Claire said, her hands shaking with adrenaline, as she peeled back Murtagh’s jacket away from the injury. Underneath, the light-coloured shirt was soaked in dark blood. Quickly, Claire ripped open the bloody fabric to get a better look at the wound. It was next to his shoulder blade and just under the collar bone. The wound was deep, and had it been any farther over, it would have been fatal.

“You’re lucky,” She said, “It just missed a major artery.”

Murtagh shot back a look of annoyance. “Lucky me.”

Claire got up and swiftly moved to her horse, which also now exhibited uneasiness, brought on by Murtagh’s skittish horse beside it. Out of the saddle bag, Claire pulled a bottle of disinfecting alcohol and a roll of bandage. She opened the bottle as she moved back to Murtagh and without warning—hoping to spare him the anticipation of what was to come—she poured it on the open wound.

Immediately Murtagh’s eyes slammed shut, and he yelled in pain through gritted teeth. Suddenly fearful that a group of Redcoats would be drawn to the sound, she placed her hand on his forehead, “Shhh, Shhhhh,” she attempted to quiet him, “That was the worst of it, I promise.”

Murtagh breathed heavily, his eyes still closed. “Ye tryna’ kill me Lass?” He managed hoarsely.

“No,” Claire was layering the cloth for the bandage, and took out her knife, cutting a long strip to wrap it with. “I’m trying to save you.” Firmly, she held the makeshift bandage in place, using pressure to try to control the bleeding. Then with a hand on his good shoulder, she said, “Now you’re going to need to sit up a bit so I can wrap this.”

Murtagh gave a pained expression. Gingerly, he began moving to sit up and Claire got behind him to help. She worked quickly and wrapped the bandage over his clothes, winding it around his chest and then over his shoulder and under his arm until the cloth over the wound was held securely in place.

“Does that feel alright?” She asked Murtagh.

“Swell,” he replied through gritted teeth.

Claire stood and hastily and wiped blood off her hands onto the dark fabric of her skirt. Then she picked up the soldier’s gun and tossed it off the path amongst the ground foliage where it would not be spotted.

Then she went to Murtagh’s side again. He was still sitting up, but he looked pale, and Claire worried about shock setting in. But time was of the essence, and they desperately needed to put some distance between them and the soldier. “Do you think you’re ready to stand?” She asked.

Murtagh hesitated for a second, and then, his jaw set, gave a nod. Claire pocketed the alcohol bottle and knife, then picked up Murtagh’s sword and handed it to him. Then, with her body positioned under his good arm, she helped hoist him up to a standing position. Murtagh grunted in pain as his body opposed the movement.

Once standing, Murtagh made his way to his horse, which was still restless. Murtagh pet the black stallion’s muzzle calmingly. “I know ye dinna mean that, Laddy,” he crooned. The horse seemed comforted by the gesture, and after a few pats on the mane, seemed to calm down. “But let’s no’ be doin’ that again,” Murtagh murmured.

Claire’s mind was buzzing as she thought about their next move. She was concerned about Murtagh being on horseback for too long. She watched as he mounted his horse now with one hand, the colour draining from his face as he did so. He looked precarious, slightly hunched over, holding the reins in one hand. His other arm, limited in movement, rested on his thigh.

“It will take too long to continue on to Ardmair now.” Claire said, formulating a plan. “We’ll go back the way we came, find a safe place to rest and get that wound taken care of properly.”

Murtagh shook his head languidly. “We need to push forward, continue with our search.”

Claire frowned. “Head in the direction that the Redcoat went? To a village that could be a three hour’s ride from here?” Claire challenged, now confident in her decision. “It’s too risky. On our way, we passed what looked like a road to a small settlement. It will have to do.”

After a moment’s consideration, Murtagh gave a begrudging nod, “Aye”.

“Stay close, and if you begin to feel faint, say something and we’ll stop.” Her mind wandered back to a distant memory. “I’ll not have a repeat of the night of Cochnamon Rock”.

Despite the situation, Murtagh gave a small chuckle, understanding her meaning. While not a laughing matter at the time, the thought of Jamie sliding off his horse after keeping a gunshot wound hidden, a testament to Jamie’s stubbornness, was something that Murtagh and Claire could lightheartedly joke about now.

Their love for Jamie was the commonality between them.

Together they began the slow journey back, along the path from which they came.


	2. On Rocky Terrain

They had been riding now for over an hour and Claire was beginning to feel more and more unsettled. 

The road to what she thought may have been a small parish was nowhere to be seen. Nor were any other signs leading to settlements or habitations that might provide them with a temporary refuge. It seemed as if they were the only two people in his part of the Scottish Highlands. 

On any other occasion, this may have been favourable. The terrain, consisting of mostly open countryside, meant that they were easily visible if anyone decided to pursue them. However, right now, they needed to stop and find shelter, and hopefully food, water, medical supplies… 

Murtagh was trailing behind. Claire glanced back and at him and then she slowed her horse so that he could catch up. When she was riding next to him, she saw that his breathing was laboured, pain visible on his face. He did not look like he could continue much farther like this. 

As they reached a high ground, Claire spotted something far in the distance. A small cluster of black and red in the direction that they were headed. While they looked like ants from this distance, she did not underestimate the danger that these forms represented. The possibility of being stopped and detained was not a risk Claire was willing to take. 

“Turn around, now!” Claire told Murtagh urgently. Quickly, they veered their horses around and backtracked until they were no longer visible on the path. 

But a backup plan had been forming in Claire’s mind. She directed her horse off the trail and Murtagh followed.

“We’ll head along the coast until we reach the caves where we were last night,” Claire asserted. 

“The horses won’ do well on the terrain,” Murtagh responded. But he must have seen that they were limited in their options because he urged his horse forward and they travelled in the direction of the coast. 

It wasn’t long until the rocky ground slowed their pace. As the incline steepened, gravel beneath the horses’ hooves slipped away like small rocky avalanches. Their next steps needed to be careful ones. 

Murtagh must have been thinking the same, because he stopped and looked at her, tilting his head slightly toward the ground, indicating that they should dismount. Claire had now spent enough time with Murtagh that she could read his subtle body language, his expressive eyes and brows that said so much, even when he spoke very little. 

Claire dismounted. “We can continue on foot, it shouldn’t be too much longer from here,” she said hopefully, looking into the distance. However, her optimism faltered when she looked back at Murtagh. Getting down from his horse, his movements were slow. When his feet hit the ground, he looked dizzy and swayed a bit, bracing his hand against the rockface to regain his balance. 

Claire went to his side. “Let’s take a break,” She said. 

Murtagh shook his head, “We should keep going,” he said faintly, eyes to the ground. 

“Murtagh.” Claire said insistently.

He sighed in resignation and hesitantly sat on a rock ledge, wincing as he struggled to position himself. Claire secured the horses’ reins and then sat down beside him. 

Murtagh leaned forward, clutching his bandaged shoulder which had started to bleed through the strips of cloth that wrapped it. A moment of silence passed before he said, “Claire, ye dinna have to keep dragging my sorry arse around the countryside.” He looked at her imploringly. “Keep on with the search, keep looking for the lad.” 

Claire was already shaking her head. “Do you think I would just leave you here like this? After all we’ve been through together?” 

But Murtagh continued, “Go back to the gypsies, give them the rest o’ the coins we have an’ ask that they take ye along with them ‘till ye find him. They may be a bunch o’ deceitful pricks Claire, but I dinna’ think they would put ye in any danger.”

Claire looked at him, touched by the caring sentiment. She rubbed his good arm affectionately. “You cannot get rid of me that easily, I’m afraid.” She got up and got her canteen from the saddlebag, then took out a small bottle of honey and poured a good amount of it into the remaining drinking water. 

“Yer as stubborn as a mule,” Murtagh said and Claire handed him the canteen. “What’s this?” he asked but began drinking the honey water before hearing an answer. 

“You’re the stubborn one,” Claire said, recalling the scene from earlier. “You couldn’t even get off your horse for a redcoat. “You know, he probably would have just left you alone if you had dismounted and spoken to him unarmed.”

At this Murtagh looked irritated and there was an unexpected strained silence that followed. After a while, Murtagh spoke. “Ye think ye ken everything, don’t ye Lass?” 

Claire, caught off guard by his sudden change of tone, looked up at him, surprised. “While I was in the forest, I thought I heard the soldier tell you to get off your horse,” She said in defense.

Murtagh looked indignant. “That ignorant pup saw yer horse without a rider an’ wanted it for himself. Told me to just hand it over to him! ‘Cause that’s what they do, they just take things for themselves without asking.”

Suddenly Claire felt a bit foolish and she nodded in understanding. Murtagh looked away and she watched his look of annoyance begin to fade and his eyes soften. “But... I thank ye for comin’ to my aid.” He said quietly, as his eyebrows transitioned into a look of gratitude.

“Drink,” She said and motioned towards the canteen.

Some colour had already returned to his cheeks and she hoped the drink would help him regain some of his energy. The honey would help raise the blood sugar, but what he really needed was to have the wound cleaned, sutured and dressed properly. 

She smiled at him, “Ok, time for us to be on our way.” And she poised herself beside him with her arm around his back. “Ready?” She asked and when he gave a reluctant nod and put one arm around her shoulder, she helped him up. 

Claire handed Murtagh his horse’s reins and they continued forward, walking their horses down the difficult terrain. The trek was slow, but they stayed close to one another and pushed onward. As the temperature began to grow colder, the air around them smelled of damp earth, blood and honey.


	3. Retracing Steps

Claire wasn’t exactly sure when Murtagh began to stumble. It started gradually, perhaps an hour after they had dismounted. At first, she just thought he had tripped, but as the frequency of his missteps increased and his pace slowed, she realized that he was struggling.

She looked at Murtagh’s face and saw that his complexion was pale, his breathing becoming more and more shallow. Instantly she regretted making the decision to return to the caves. Prior to this, there had been numerous opportunities to make camp as they passed wooded areas. However, she could feel that rain was coming and knew Murtagh would stand a better chance somewhere dry and out of the elements.

Murtagh stumbled again, and Claire took the reins from him and slid her arm around his back, slinging his good arm over her own shoulder. The fact that he didn’t protest worried Claire.

Within thirty minutes, Claire was fully drenched in her own sweat as her back strained under the pressure of steadying Murtagh with one arm and holding the horse reins in the other. The horses’ speeds varied, and she felt she was either tugging on the reigns to urge them forward, or she was being nudged forward by a horse’s muzzle. She wondered how much more distance they could cover like this.

Every so often, Murtagh’s eyes would close, and then his weight was on Claire, his feet tripping over gravel before regaining an unsteady stride. “Murtagh,” She coaxed. “We have to keep going.”

“I’ll ride the rest of the way,” Murtagh said wearily, his eyes half-shut.

“You’re delirious if you think I would let you get on a horse right now.”

They were walking along the beach now, along the waters edge to cover their tracks. She expected to come upon the caves any moment now. The whole walk had been much more strenuous than she had anticipated. The bandaged shoulder was now dark with blood.

Then, as if in answer to a prayer, the beach began to open up and Claire began to see familiar landmarks.

Another stumble, but again they recovered their pace. “Nearly there,” she said to her companion, who weakly managed an, “Aye”.

Within a few more moments, they were trudging into the cave where they had spent the night earlier. “Oh, thank Christ!” Claire exclaimed with relief that their trek was coming to an end. She struggled under Murtagh’s weight and brought him over to a part of the cave which had a sandy floor, a spot which had made a particularly comfortable bed the night before. With effort, she helped lower Murtagh down, both of them breathing heavily. Immediately, he laid on his back and closed his eyes.

White ash from their earlier campfire stirred in the breeze and Claire was relieved to see the small pile of firewood beside it, which they had left behind. Claire picked up a stick and stoked the fire, revealing some red embers beneath charred remains of firewood. Hastily, she built up some of the leftover wood and kindling into a pyramid, then she shoved a branch of dry shriveled leaves into the embers and blew into it until it ignited.

Within the half hour she had taken to collect fresh water in a cooking pot and bring it to a boil propped on a stone amidst the fire, Murtagh had barely moved an inch. Finally, he spoke, his eyes still closed, “We can rest here fer now, but tomorrow we’re leaving at dawn, ye hear?”

Rain began to fall steadily outside and Claire was thankful they were somewhere dry and relatively secure.  
“If you say so,” said Claire as she soaked some cloth and a needle and thread in the boiling water. Once satisfied, she took the pot off the stone to cool. “Sit up, I need to dress that properly.”

“Haven’ ye done enough o’ tha’ already? Just let me sleep and I’ll be right as rain,” he responded, unmoving.

Claire moved over to him and he opened his tired eyes. He reluctantly allowed Claire to help prop him up into a partial sitting position, his back resting against a large rock. Then she began removing the bandages which were now soaked in crimson blood.

Claire slipped her hand beneath Murtagh’s shirt and held a cloth against the wound, administering pressure. With the other hand, she helped Murtagh remove his jacket and shirt.

It suddenly occurred to Claire that she had never seen Murtagh without a shirt on, or at least not close-up. It felt strangely intimate to be close enough to his bare torso to notice that his chest was smooth and muscular, slick with sweat and adorned with several past battle scars.

“Looks like you will have a new scar to add to the collection,” she teased and Murtagh gave a small snort and she thought she could see a bit of a smile beneath the thick beard, his eyes half closed.

She washed her hands in disinfecting alcohol and then soaked a new cloth in hot water and pressed it to Murtagh’s chest. She smiled despite herself, silently marveling at the toned chest and stomach that, for some reason, she hadn’t expected to see. Murtagh was a bit of a mystery at times, but with each day, she was beginning to understand him a bit better. There was nothing ostentatious about him. No pride or vanity, even if there was reason for it.

Claire examined the wound as she gently cleaned the blood from around it. It was an almost perfect straight line traveling three inches down from underneath his collarbone. But it was deep and it fell just short of the subclavian artery. Claire shook her head, “To be honest, it’s a miracle this didn’t kill you.” She said aloud.

Murtagh breathed heavily. “I’m not afraid to die, Claire,” he said, his expression distant. “But… I’d hate to meet my end ‘cause of tha’ feartie British whelp.”

“Well,” Claire said, “I will make sure that doesn’t happen.” She poured the alcohol over the needle and thread and then said quietly, “this may hurt” and poured some over the injury. Murtagh inhaled sharply, his body tensing.

Without delay, Claire began to sew up the wound, plunging the curved needle into the skin, pulling the two sides of the wound together. As she did, a steady line of blood rolled down the side of his chest and he groaned quietly in pain.

“Not too much more, and then you’ll be as good as new.” Claire said comfortingly and Murtagh gritted his teeth.

Neither of the them spoke Claire worked, Murtagh’s laboured breaths hung in the air as the only sound between them. After a while, Claire saw Murtagh shaking his head slightly, his brows furrowed. “I shoulda’ been more on my guard,” He breathed huskily. “I let him gain the upper hand. Now we’re both stuck back here while Jamie is still out there!” And he motioned towards the opening of the cave with his good arm, frustration visible on his face.

“Hey,” Claire said in her most reassuring tone. She stopped stitching for a moment and held his gaze. “This is not your fault. This is the act of that British soldier, no one else.”

But Murtagh still looked unsatisfied, “I ken ye feel it too Lass, that yer wasting your time here lookin’ after me while he’s out there.” His voice was strained, and his eyes met hers, “Please, just leave me here and go.”

“No!” Claire said, more forcefully than she intended. Murtagh just looked at her wearily. Of course, the thought had occurred to Claire that this setback was wasting time on their journey to find Jamie. She pined for Jamie, for any word that he was alive. But in such a time of despair, Claire had felt extremely comforted by Murtagh’s presence. In Jamie’s absence, she had begun to feel that having Murtagh beside her was like having a little part of Jamie with her. But more than that, she had been surprised to feel that she was beginning to enjoy Murtagh’s company, to grow fond of his gruff, yet often charming personality, with a tender side that she was noticing more and more. In the time they had spent together, she had grown comfortable with their companionship. He was now a friend, and she was not about to leave him injured in a cave while she ventured off on her own.

She continued with the stitching, but she didn’t quite know what to say next. Claire imagined that Murtagh may have gotten the idea because he did not press the point any further. After a few minutes in silence, Murtagh shifted in discomfort, “Are ye sewing a damned frock, or what?” He said gruffly. “T’isn’t an embroidery lesson.”

Claire gave a feeble laugh, feeling relieved at the break in silence. “Just about there.” And after a few minutes more, she knotted the last stitch and snipped it with her medical scissors. “See? All done.” She took a healing salve and put it on top of the stitches, then began bandaging the shoulder and chest. It was a tricky spot to bandage and she ended up wrapping the bands around the top of his bare chest, under his arms and then around his right shoulder. While she worked, Murtagh was silent, absently pressing on his forehead and temple, his jaw clenched.

She recognized the habit of his from her days travelling with the men collecting the rent, an indicator of a headache. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, you’re dehydrated,” she said as she tied the ends of the bandage together.

Claire tied a final knot and reached for the canteen of water to give to him. Murtagh accepted it gratefully and drank. Then he handed it back to Claire. After a pause he said, “Thank ye Claire, for everything.” And she could hear the sincerity in his voice. Then he eased himself backwards, closed his eyes and was instantly asleep.


	4. Morning Sickness

Claire woke up and immediately had a feeling that something was wrong. 

The morning sun filtered into the cave, the sound of crashing waves filling the hollow and cavernous space. Other than that, there was silence. Claire turned to Murtagh who was still asleep a few feet beside her. As she moved closer to him, she noted that his breathing seemed too fast, though it was barely audible. 

The previous day, he had slept the entire afternoon, barely moving a muscle. Before she went to sleep, Claire went over to check on him. She had placed her hand on his forehead and had noticed that his skin felt slightly warmer than she had anticipated. When he shivered slightly in his sleep, Claire covered him with a blanket.

This morning, the blanket had been tossed aside. The morning was cool, yet a sheen of sweat covered Murtagh’s forehead and bare chest, sweat collecting in the lines between the muscles of his stomach, in his clavicle and navel. She reached out to touch his arm to try to wake him and she could feel the heat radiating from his body before she even made contact with his skin. She instinctively touched his forehead and it was hot with fever. Taking his wrist in her hand, she took his vital signs; his heart rate was elevated. 

“Murtagh!” she said loudly, hoping to wake him. When that didn’t work, she shook his arm but there was still no response. Claire suddenly felt sick. She bolted up and went to the pot of water she had collected the night earlier. She poured some into a bowl with a clean cloth and went back to Murtagh’s side. The water was cool and she soaked the cloth and squeezed out some of the excess water, then placed the cool damp cloth on Murtagh’s forehead. 

His fever was high. Without a modern thermometer, she wasn’t sure how high his temperature was, but she did know she needed to try to bring the fever down. Despite her best efforts from the day prior, infection had developed in the wound and gotten into the bloodstream. Back in present time, with penicillin and modern medicines, this could have been prevented easily, but not in this place or time. If not treated, the infection could lead to septic shock or worse.

“Fuck!” She said out loud, suddenly overcome with frustration. She looked at Murtagh’s face, his eyes closed with his brow slightly furrowed, his skin pale. Up until that moment, she had not considered the possibility that he might not recover; that she might not be able to heal him. Inexplicably, the thought had not crossed her mind until now that she might have no other choice but to finish the rest of her journey alone. 

The thought of being alone scared Claire. As did the thought of having to mourn the loss of her friend, but she fought back the feeling. She could not allow herself to think of such thoughts right now. Everything would be fine. 

After soaking the cloth in the water, she pressed it again to his forehead, letting cool drips of water slide down the side of his face and back into his hair. 

To Claire’s immense relief, Murtagh began to stir. His dark eyelashes fluttered for a moment, but his eyes stayed closed as if he had tried to open them but was too tired. His hand came up and rested on hers. “Lass,” he said in a hoarse voice. 

Claire smiled at the sound of his voice and she took his hand in hers. “I’m here.” She said, dabbing his forehead with the cloth. “So much for leaving at dawn, huh?”

Murtagh’s eyes remained closed, “Aye”, he said with a hint of a smile. But then he swallowed hard and shifted his position, uncomfortable. “S’hot,” He murmured. 

Claire felt the chill in the air but noticed that sweat continued to bead on Murtagh’s skin. Wetting the rag again, Claire began to run the cool, wet cloth over his shoulders and neck, then over his arms, working carefully around the bandage and his wounded right shoulder. Murtagh exhaled, relieved to get some reprieve from the heat of the fever. 

When Claire found herself moving the cloth over the firm muscles of Murtagh’s chest and stomach, she momentarily lost her focus as she inadvertently appreciated his physique: the smooth skin of his muscular chest, shining with sweat, moving up and down as he breathed; his unexpectedly toned abdominal muscles sporadically tensing, a trace of dark hair leading from below his navel and disappearing below his waistline. 

Suddenly aware of herself again, she took the cloth away from Murtagh’s body, feeling strange and a bit embarrassed. But Murtagh did not notice, his eyes still closed, possibly even asleep. “You need fluids,” Claire said, her focus returning, and she moved to her medical case. 

“Whiskey,” Murtagh mumbled hoarsely. 

“Not whiskey. You need real fluids that will help hydrate and bring your fever down. How’s your pain?” She asked, although she didn’t expect to get the answer she was looking for. During the war, she would ask recovering solders to give her a number for their pain, from one to ten, so she could gauge how much morphine to provide soldiers from their limited stock of supplies. Here, her medical stock was even more limited, many of her supplies depleted by the medical visits she had been providing to townspeople as they travelled. With little money to replenish her supplies, she was now out of many of the basics, including painkillers.

As expected, all she got from Murtagh was a muffled, “Mmph”. Claire shook her head, interpreting the grunt as, ‘it feels like how you would imagine it would feel, but I’m not about to whinge about it’. She went to her medical kit and pulled out some white willow bark and echinacea. There was only a small amount of each herb, but she used all that she had, crushing it quickly but carefully with a mortar and pestle. Then she tipped the contents into a small bag made from filter cloth, popped the bag of herbs into the opening of the canteen, poured clean water into the vessel, and swished it around. She would go out later to try to replenish the herbs and maybe make Murtagh a warm and better tasting tea later, but for now she thought it was important for him take in the water and the herbs that might hopefully bring his pain and fever down. 

Placing herself in a seated position behind Murtagh, she tried to prop him up so he could drink. Barely conscious and weak from fever, his body was dead weight. With difficulty, she managed to hoist him up and move in close behind him so that his back was resting against her chest. Instantly, she could feel the heat of his skin transfer through her clothing. His hair brushed against the side of her face. He smelled of musky sweat, sand and moss, and Claire absently brushed some of his damp hair away from his face and tucked it behind his ear. He breathed heavily and she could feel his heartbeat through his back. It felt too fast, under pressure. 

“Come on Murtagh, help me out here,” she said, gently trying to tip his head up, and the canteen to his lips. Some of the water trickled down his beard, but he also managed to swallow some of it. “A little more, now” She said, encouragingly. But swallowing too much at once, he broke into a fit of coughing, which reverberated through Claire’s body. Murtagh groaned and Claire rubbed his arm calmingly. After a few moments when he had recovered, Claire carefully fed him the rest of the herb water and then slowly lowered him back to a lying position and he was fast asleep once again. 

With Murtagh asleep, Claire stood up and suddenly nausea swept over her. Moving slowly, she sat down on a log close to the fire, lowering her head between her knees and waiting for the nausea to pass. The sandy floor of the cave began to sway a bit and she felt dizzy, her stomach in knots. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only five minutes, the nausea subsided a bit and she drank some cold water. Her relief was short-lived as a few minutes later she bolted up to leave the cave to vomit. 

When she returned, she felt tired and weak and disheartened. “We’re quite the pair right now, you and I,” she said to a sleeping Murtagh.


	5. A Looming Threat

Murtagh slept solid until mid-afternoon. Throughout the day, she monitored his fever, checking his forehead and pulse often. To Claire’s immense relief, she gradually felt his heart rate returning to normal. His body temperature followed suit, dropping slightly. And while he still held a temperature, she noticed him start to shiver, faint goosebumps appearing over the skin on his neck, arms and chest. She covered him with both the blankets they had. 

At a time that she estimated was about 2pm, she woke him, a warm tea in hand, which she made from the fruit and flowers of an elderberry bush she had been lucky to find close to the cave entrance. Murtagh stirred, inhaling deeply as he began to open his eyes. 

For the first time since the afternoon before, his hazel eyes gazed back at her. It was such a simple thing, yet seeing his open eyes raised Claire’s spirits and she no longer felt so alone. 

“Hey,” Claire said gently. “I made you some tea. Do you think you can sit up to drink it?”

With her help, Murtagh struggled into a propped-up position, and she moved one shoulder in behind him so that she could help support the weight of his upper body. When she passed him the cup of warm tea, his hand shook slightly so she kept her hand on the cup and helped guide it to his lips.

Murtagh took a sip and then spoke, “’Tis better than the last shite ye fed to me,” he said, referring to the bitter willow bark tea that she knew must have tasted awful. She felt somewhat heartened by his sardonic comment.

“It should help reduce the fever, and it may help with the pain a bit. I’m afraid I don’t have any laudanum,” She said regretfully. Murtagh shook his head to communicate that he didn’t need the strong painkiller. Claire offered him some porridge she had prepared, but he refused it and continued to sip his tea, shivering slightly. The air temperature had dropped considerably since the morning and the sun had all but disappeared as dark rain clouds moved in. He looked ill and uncharacteristically frail. 

Claire brought the wool blanket up around his bare shoulders and began to rub his back and shoulders over the blanket to warm him. At first, he stiffened at her touch, perhaps unsure what to make of it. Then, after a moment, she felt his shoulders relax as the touch of her hands gently released heat back into his muscles. He closed his eyes and Claire silently wondered when someone had last taken care of him like this. The thought made her feel sad. 

After a while, Murtagh’s eyelashes fluttered and his head dropped as he began to fall asleep again. Claire took his empty cup and helped him lay down. Then, Claire tended to the fire and planned for the rest of the day. 

The rain had already begun and the temperature was dropping. They would need more firewood, more water and she would need to check on the horses to make sure they were alright, still somewhat hidden and that they had enough to graze on. She also wanted to see if she could find some more useful herbs. She imagined a few herbs wouldn’t be too hard to find around here: meadowsweet, roseroot, maybe others. It was still raining, but on her way back she could grab her spare set of dry clothing from her horse’s saddlebag. 

Before she left, she stoked the fire to provide Murtagh with some heat while she was gone. Then she knelt beside him, laying a hand on his forehead. The fever was still present, but she could tell it was dropping. He stirred slightly at her touch but did not wake. Sweat now slid down his temples and neck; his body trying to rid itself of the infection. She repositioned his blankets so that he would be as warm as possible, tucking the blanket over his large arms and bare chest. Satisfied that this was all she could do for him in the moment, she got to her feet and left the cave. 

Once outside, the layers of her dress soaked through quickly. They weighed twice as much wet, and she felt the discomfort of the soggy clothing against her skin, chilling her to the bone. 

With the horses cared for, and water collected and brought back, she took the hatchet from Murtagh’s saddlebag and set out again for firewood and herbs. Finding dry wood was difficult, but dead wood would dry out quickly next to a fire that was hot enough, so she moved along the beach to the greyed logs and driftwood, breaking up the wood by chopping with the hatchet and snapping off fragments, gathering a growing bundle of pieces in the fabric of her soaked dress. 

As she worked, she thought of Jamie. With her back to the water, she looked back at vast stretch of land in front of her. Beyond the beach and rocky cliffs were rolling green hills as far as her eye could see. How would she ever find Jamie? What if he was in Ardmair right now and they had just missed each other? The situation felt hopeless, her heart felt heavy. 

She equated the feeling to that of grief; a longing for someone who was lost. She felt distressed, anxious, isolated and she knew her pregnancy hormones were not helping those feelings. At least she had Murtagh with her on this journey. She felt comforted at the thought of him, but felt a pang of worry as well. She could not lose him too. 

Claire grabbed the last of the wood that she had gathered and decided to head back to the caves. She was about a five-minute walk down the beach when she heard voices. Instinctively, Claire swiftly backed up behind a rock, dropping the wood as she ducked down. Her heart raced and her eyes scanned round her for the source of the voices. It took a while for her to realize that the voices were coming from above her.

Straining to hear, she could make out that the voices sounded English, and just then, two soldiers in their red coats appeared along a rocky ridge above. They continued talking and she saw one of them point out towards the water as they made their descent on foot, down towards the beach where she was. Silently, she shrank down further to avoid being seen, clutching the hatchet. 

As they continued to draw nearer, she knew that part of her body may be visible, yet it was too late to move as any sound or movement would alert the men of her presence. All she could do was stay as still as possible and hope. She held her breath as they approached. 

She could hear the cadence of their conversation continue without pause and grow louder. She felt sure they would hear her heart beating as it pounded in fear, audible at least to her own ears. But then their voices grew quieter and they had passed. Claire exhaled as quietly as she could. 

However, the men were now heading in the direction of the beach where Claire had clumsily failed to hide her tracks. This would lead them to the caves, to where smoke from the fire would most certainly trigger their interest, to where Murtagh now slept. 

She had to warn him.


	6. Redcoats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading this story of mine. At first, I was pretty hesitant to post this story, since I knew it might only be enjoyed by a very 'niche' audience of readers, but the kudos and comments feel so encouraging, so thank you so much for that! 
> 
> Tell me more about what you think! Is Claire checking out Murtagh too weird? Or is it a suitable reaction for two people stuck in a cave together? Should I take that further, or should I keep things on a completely platonic level between them??
> 
> I hope you enjoy Chapter 6! I’m hoping to get the last chapters up soon, but still have to figure out some details.. ;)

Claire tucked the hatchet into the waistband of her dress and carefully and quietly began following the soldiers without being seen. If she could somehow get ahead of them, she may be able to make it there before the soldiers found their camp. She could wake Murtagh and with luck, they could sneak away.

Heading back along her path, she could see the indentations from her own prior footprints in the sandy gravel. She wasn’t sure if they had noticed her tracks yet. They were not walking along the beach for long before their pace slowed and stopped, engaged in conversation.

Claire saw her chance and crept along the base of the ridge amongst the rocks, away from the waters edge where, very fortunately, the soldiers seemed to be looking out towards the water as they conversed.

The cave was now in view. But as the beach opened up, there was nowhere more to hide. As she moved forward, she would be in plain sight. Claire moved out of cover and began to run.

Within seconds, she was being followed. Perhaps they had been aware of her presence the entire time. “Stop where you are!” One of the soldiers yelled to her. She turned to face them, still backing away, and saw that the soldier was pointing a pistol in her direction. With a sudden stroke of clarity, Claire reached behind her to the hatchet in the right side of her waistband and quickly folded some of the fabric of her skirt over to conceal the weapon.

“Hold your hands out so they are visible!” The soldier yelled, and she did as she was told, hoping that the hatchet would stay put, stay hidden if and until there was a moment to use it. The second soldier charged at her, grabbing her arms, and pulling them behind her. He did not seem to take any notice of the lump of fabric in the back of her skirt.

“You’re a cunning one,” The solider uttered maliciously into her ear, his breath hot and foul. He tightened his grasp on her and she struggled to move away from him. “Why are you running from us? What are you hiding?” He asked and Claire could hear that his voice was filled with delight.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” said Claire brusquely. “I was running to get out of the rain.”

“And what was this proper British lady doing out here in the rain to begin with?” The soldier in front of asked rhetorically. “And just where was she running to?” With that he looked in the direction of the cave, knowingly.

Before Claire could make up a lie or protest, the soldier had started to make his way to the mouth of the cave, his sword drawn. The other held her roughly, pushing her forward, but they stopped short of going in. She could not see what was happening inside.

Claire’s heart raced as she pictured Murtagh asleep in the cave. If he woke up and put up a fight, surely he would be killed. Murtagh was not the type to go quietly. Claire looked down in despair, unable to watch the scene unfold. This was all her fault, she had decided to venture down the beach, she had led the soldiers back here. She felt faint and nauseated, and for a moment she thought she might be sick.

“Look what I’ve got here!” Came the soldier’s triumphant voice from within the cave, and Claire felt her heart drop.

When the soldier emerged, he was holding Murtagh’s sword. But there was no sign of Murtagh.

“Pretty nice”, said the soldier looking at the sword. Then he turned to his comrade and Claire. “Now, just who owns this sword?” With that, he began approaching Claire, fingering the sharp tip of the sword, malice in his eyes.

Like the crack of a whip, the soldier’s head suddenly spun to the side before Claire’s eyes. The sword left his hand and clattered to the ground. A wide-eyed look of shock had fallen upon the half of the soldier’s face that was visible. His comrade still grasped her arms but started in shock, emitting a high noise of surprise. They both watched as the man in front of them fell to the ground.

Behind where he had been, Murtagh stood broadly, holding a tree limb in his hand. He looked wrathful and wild, bare-chested save for his bandage. He approached them now, his brow furrowed, and her captor backed up a few steps, holding her and fumbling with his pistol. Murtagh hit the pistol out of his hand and it fell to the ground.

“Ye get yer filthy hands off her,” Murtagh said ominously as he took the soldier by the front of his coat and pulled him away from Claire, throwing him into the ground.

Murtagh looked winded from the effort he had just expended. “Ye need to get out o’ here, Claire. Take yer horse an’ go, now!” He told her urgently. On the ground, he located his sword by the fallen soldier and picked it up.

Already, the soldier he had thrown was picking himself off the ground, his sword now drawn too.

“Claire, run!”

The swords clashed together. Claire watched, transfixed in fear as the two fought. She knew Murtagh wanted her to leave in case he lost the fight. Evidently, he thought he might. Claire could not leave.

Murtagh narrowly avoided a swipe to the chest and swiftly brought his sword up in a counter-attack. Their swords locked. The soldier pushed forward, but Murtagh held tough, standing his ground, determined. While the two adversaries may have looked evenly matched to an outsider’s eye, Claire knew Murtagh’s strength had not yet recovered.

Not willing to let the showdown continue a moment longer, Claire rushed forward and before the soldier could make another move, she hit him in the back of the head as hard as she could with the back of the hatchet. The impact made a sickening crack against the soldier’s skull and he stood stunned momentarily.

Then there was a slicing sound as Murtagh’s sword pierced the soldier, a surprising length of blood-stained blade appearing through the soldier’s back. Then, just as quickly, it was withdrawn, and the soldier crumpled into a heap on the ground like a rag doll.

Murtagh hunched forward, resting his weight on the grip of his sword, catching his breath.

“Yer stubborn,” he breathed, “jus’ like Jamie.” But then he looked up at Claire and in his eyes she saw there was approval and gratitude. “Nicely done,” he said and he held one arm out to her. She moved towards him and he pulled her into a strong embrace. “Are ye alright? Did they hurt ye?” he asked her.

“I’m fine,” Claire said into his bare chest as she hugged him. She felt herself shaking slightly. “Are you ok?”

“Thanks to ye,” he said appreciatively. They stayed in the embrace, Murtagh’s large hand on the back of her head, his fingers gently entwined in her hair. Claire exhaled, feeling instantly comforted. Only moments ago, she thought she had lost him. But now the feeling of having him safe, his calming presence, the now familiar scent of his skin, was so reassuring. In this moment, he was the closest thing in her life that resembled a friend or family. And while that thought made her feel tremendously lonely, it also made her enormously thankful to have him here with her. She sensed her heart rate returning to normal and she felt temporarily at peace.

For a long while, neither pulled away from one another. But eventually Claire looked up at Murtagh and stepped back to examine the state of him. As she expected, blood was starting to soak through his bandage and she suspected he had torn some of his stitches. On the bright side, the fight seemed to revive some energy in him. His face had some colour back in it as he looked down at her in concern, but Claire spoke first.

“I thought you were a dead man,” She said. “I was so worried, I almost threw up on the soldier.” Murtagh laughed and squeezed her arm. “How did you hear them coming?” She asked.

Murtagh scoffed, “I didn’t. Had to get up to take a piss, the amount of teas an’ shite ye been feeding me.”

Claire laughed and rolled her eyes, “Well it did the trick then, didn’t it? Saved you from being skewered in your sleep, didn’t they?” She teased.

But the brief ease Claire felt was fleeting as a moment later she was helping Murtagh to drag the bodies of the soldiers into a trench-like crevice, not far from the cave. The narrow geological formation was a deep vertical cleft in rock, overgrown with vegetation. It acted as a convenient burial method; a difficult spot to find.

Before Murtagh moved the lifeless forms into their final resting spots, he swiftly cut both soldiers’ throats, and Claire checked their pulses to ensure they were gone. As they did this, the look on Murtagh’s face was not one of accomplishment, but one of regret. Claire imagined that her face may have mirrored his expression, as she too felt regretful that they had to take these lives in order to protect their own. While she knew Murtagh had killed a fair amount of men over the years, she wondered if maybe the act of killing was something one never really got used to. She hoped it wasn’t.

The two walked wordlessly back to the cave as the rain intensified once again.


	7. Closer Together

The sky was darkening quickly, and Claire's eyes had to adjust to the dim light in the cave. From her supply kit, she lit a wax candle and housed it inside a small copper lantern. The lantern had come from Lallybroch and it made her think of Jamie. 

“Hungry?” Came Murtagh’s voice, shaking Claire from her thoughts. Murtagh collapsed beside her, eating from the pot of porridge she had made a few hours earlier. The oats had become dry and partially stuck to the side of the pot, but she knew he must have been ravenous, having not eaten for the better part of two days. He tipped the pot in her direction and Claire declined his offer. The events of the evening had spoiled any appetite she might have had. 

“I should take a look at that and dress it again.” Claire said eyeing up his bloody bandage and switching back into care-giving mode.

“It’s fine, no bother,” Murtagh said, but Claire had already begun peeling back the layers of the dressing. 

“Why is it that ye never take ‘no’ for an answer?” Murtagh said, feigning annoyance, as he put down the pot of oats. 

“I seem to be doing a pretty good job of keeping you alive so far, so I’m not about to stop now,” said Claire defiantly. Murtagh seemed to accept this as a fair answer because he tilted his head and gave a little nod but said nothing. 

Claire sterilized her hands with alcohol, removed the old bandages. Her careful, tidy line of stitches had split, as the skin in some places had ripped away from the stitching, leaving the thread slack and the skin jagged. Claire sighed and got to work preparing the needled and thread.

As she carefully fixed up the stitches, she could feel Murtagh’s eyes on her. He didn’t flinch, not even as the needle pierced his skin, he just watched her work, looking at her hands and then her face. After a moment, Claire looked up at him and he didn’t look away. In the candlelight, his eyes seemed golden in colour, warm and shining with light. “Yer a good person Claire,” He said. 

Claire looked back at her stitching, feeling touched by his words. “Thank you Murtagh.” She said, “I feel the same about you.” 

It was a precarious thing, she thought suddenly, for two people to be in this type of situation. Emotions ran high, they were both feeling anxious and unbelievably worried about Jamie, overcome by the impossibility of the task they were faced with. She knew Murtagh was feeling just as overwhelmed as she was, but she could also sense that Murtagh might be experiencing the same feelings of loneliness that she was; the isolation and a sort of longing for genuine human interaction. She could feel it in the way they had embraced earlier, as if neither had wanted to part from the other. As if as soon as they did, the loneliness would return.

She felt it again now as she sat next to him. She was comforted by having him close. Claire applied a healing salve to Murtagh’s new stitches. As she did, she let her other hand rest on his stomach momentarily. His skin was still warmer than it should have been, as a residual bit of the fever still gnawed at his system. 

As she wrapped Murtagh’s shoulder, a cold breeze blew in through the cave and she shivered. She could feel the temperature around them dropping and she knew she should get a fire going right away, but a curiosity nagged at her, and the moment felt right to ask, “Murtagh, why is it that you never married?” 

Murtagh’s eyebrow twitched and he looked at her, seemingly caught off guard by the question. 

“I don’t mean to pry, but you know, I feel like now that… we’ve been through a lot together, I can ask you these things. How is it that a woman hasn’t yet tried to tie you down?” Claire enquired. 

“And just what makes ye think no woman has tried?” He shot back lightheartedly and there was a slight twinkle in his eye, seeming equally uncomfortable and amused. He absently picked up a twig beside him and began breaking it up into smaller pieces. He gave a one-sided shrug, “I’ve told ye before about Jamie’s mother,” he said Claire could sense pain in his voice, the same pain she had heard two nights earlier when he shared the story of his love for Jamie’s mother, Ellen. 

“I suppose fer a long time I thought there’d never be another that could replace her,” He continued. “By the time I realized tha’ perhaps there’s no’ just one person for ye in a lifetime... by tha’ time I’d lost my youth an’ became resigned to the fact that I might just die alone, old an’ miserable.” With that he gave a little laugh and tossed the pieces of twig aside. “That’s not to say I havena had relationships since, but nothing has really ‘stuck’.” 

“Well,” Claire began, when she knew Murtagh wasn’t going to share anything more, unprompted, “Any woman would be lucky to have you. I hope you know that.” 

The edges of Murtagh’s mustache rose up into a bit of a smirk, “Spare me yer sympathies,” he said, playfully tossing a piece of twig in her direction. Claire laughed and Murtagh looked at her and smiled. “Yer not half bad yerself,” he said. But then his smile turned to a look of concern, “Jesus, yer shivering like mad, woman,” he said. 

Claire had barely noticed, but indeed, her whole body had started shivering with the cold. Murtagh touched her arm, and feeling the damp fabric of her dress, he looked at her in concern, “Yer clothes are soaked through. Why dinna’ ye say anything?”

“I know, I am rather cold, but I’ll make us a fire now,” she said nonchalantly, a feeling of cold spreading through her bones as she spoke. 

But Murtagh shook his head. “Claire,” he said seriously, his hand still on her arm. “We canna’ light a fire tonight. There may be soldiers searching this area for their kinsmen. A fire would lead directly to us.”

Instantly, Claire knew he was right. A feeling of disheartenment mingled with the cold. She had not gotten a chance to get her change of clothes from the horse’s saddlebag. With the amount the rain was coming down now, she imagined the change of clothes would be soaked through in the saddlebag anyways. 

Murtagh seemed to follow Claire’s train of thought and he said, “Ye best take off that dress now.” Despite herself, Claire couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow teasingly at his words and Murtagh looked embarrassed, “Ye ken what I mean, yer going to catch a fever if ye stay in those wet clothes.”

He was about to turn around to avert his eyes as Claire stood and began to fumble with the buttons on the back of the dress, her cold fingers lacking any useful dexterity as she shivered. After a few moments of seeing her struggle, he stood up. “Come, let me see.” And when Claire turned to let him help, he began easily undoing the buttons on the back of the dress. When that layer of the dress gave way to the white tied bodice underneath, Murtagh paused and Claire looked back at him. Claire gave a little nod and Murtagh gingerly began undoing the ties of that layer too. 

It was strange how comfortable Claire felt around Murtagh. How amazing it was to think that just days earlier she wouldn’t have even considered him to be a friend. Now, in such an intimate moment, she trusted him completely. 

With his assistance no longer needed, Murtagh wordlessly turned around and sat on his makeshift bed as Claire stripped off the damp layers of the dress. She looked back at Murtagh, and true to his character, he remained looking away, respectful of her privacy. Claire, now in nothing but a thin slip, wrapped her blanket around herself and sat down on her own bed. “Thank you Murtagh, you can turn around now.”

He did so and gave her a nod, “Goodnight Claire.” And he laid down to sleep. 

“Goodnight” She said, and she blew out the candle in the lantern next to her bed. Claire shuffled around in her blanket, trying to get the most amount of coverage over her body. Unfortunately, when her body was fully wrapped up, her bare feet stuck out from the bottom of the blanket, so she had to bring her knees up to her chest for warmth and to keep from having her feet exposed. 

As the night air grew colder, Claire could barely control her shivering. Her damp hair maintained a permanent cold spot on her back and she could no longer feel her feet. Events from the day filled her brain: the faces of the soldiers as they confronted her, the broken skull of the one she had hit with the hatchet, the torn stitches on Murtagh’s chest… the relief that she felt when she knew he was ok, the comfort she felt as he held her. The thoughts melded together into feverish visions of Jamie and Murtagh that no longer made sense to her. 

It wasn’t until she felt movement behind her that she was awakened to how violently she was actually shaking. Suddenly, Murtagh’s warm hand was on her shoulder, his other hand moved her damp hair away from her back. Then there was a second blanket on her, and while she could barely see anything in the dark, she could feel his body moving in closely behind her. Gently, he took her freezing feet in his large hands and rubbed them until there was feeling back in them, and then tucked her feet between the warm calves of his legs. Then he wordlessly laid down on his side, close to her, and Claire instantly felt the heat from his body, as if she was lying in front of a warm fire. She wondered if he was always this warm or if it was still the fever in his system.

“I’m fine Murtagh, really,” She managed, “You don’t need to do that.” But she did not want him to leave. 

Murtagh moved under the blanket with her and began rubbing her arm and shoulder with a warm hand. “I swore to protect ye, Lass,” he said. “Part of tha’ means not letting ye freeze to death.” And with that he moved his body towards hers so that the gap between them was fully closed. His chest pressed up against her back, only the thin fabric of her slip separating them. She could feel his heart beating, and the heat that she was receiving from him felt blissful. He draped the arm of his injured shoulder over her body and found her ice-cold hand and held it. 

It was more than trying to honour the oath of keeping her safe. Claire could feel that what Murtagh was extending towards her now was not just an obligation. It was care and kindness, yes, but she suspected that it was also, at least in some capacity, a form of affection that he was feeling for her. She thought this because, over past couple of days, she had felt the same sort of affection towards him. 

But they were simply feelings between two friends; sweet, comfortable, harmless. So why was she also having feelings of guilt?

She couldn’t deny that during the past several days, there were moments when she had felt an attraction towards Murtagh as they survived together. Perhaps it was a response to the constant feelings of loneliness and despair. Or because it was in her nature to feel empathy and care for him while he was recovering. Because he was her sole companion on this journey and truly one of the only people she felt she could trust now, or because he was reliable and kind to her and he seemed to understand what she was going through.

Claire shivered again more violently and Murtagh moved his left arm underneath her neck so that he could use both his arms to pull her in even closer. “Yer alright now,” He comforted her, and Claire couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of being held. She exhaled and ran her hands over the strong arms that held her. Murtagh breathed at the small gesture of care, and Claire wondered if he hadn’t expected anything from her at all. 

“Murtagh,” she breathed aloud, and she let her head loll slightly back towards him, so close that their cheeks grazed each other, his beard lightly brushing against her lips.

In her mind now was the most confusing possibility of all. What if she was having these thoughts about Murtagh, not just because he was kind to her, or because he needed her care, or because of their hopeless situation? With all this time she was spending with Murtagh, what if she was actually developing feelings for him? What if it was her fatal flaw to fall for whatever man was around and available to her, just as Frank had been replaced by Jamie after so little time apart?

Murtagh’s body had stiffened slightly, awaiting what Claire was going to say next. But Claire did not know what to say. She knew what she felt: shame, guilt, confusion, loneliness, but she did not know how to put any of it into words. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she let out a quiet sob. 

Murtagh exhaled. “Come now,” he said calmingly, and he wiped away tears from her face with his thumb. Claire held his other arm close to her as her chest rose and fell in extreme sorrow. Murtagh hugged her and stroked her hair. “Jus' rest now,” he said reassuringly. “It will all be alright. Everythin' will be fine. We will find the lad an' we will make it through this.” 

Claire nodded. She was thankful for his embrace, but more than anything she wished that these consoling words, comforting arms belonged to Jamie. Closing her eyes, she imagined that they did and slowly she felt her sorrow subside as warmth and sleep overtook her.


	8. Symbols of Hope

Claire awoke to her name being called. Things around her were not in focus, she could not make sense of her surroundings. She did not know where she was, or even _when _she was.

“Lass, can ye hear me?”

There was a hand on her forehead. Her body ached, and her head throbbed, and she felt so tired that she ignored the noise and the unknowns and tried to drift back to sleep. But someone was rubbing her arm, trying to wake her, so she forced her eyes to focus. Over top of her she saw Murtagh, his face filled with concern.

“Murtagh.” She croaked, and his face seemed to relax a bit.

“Are ye alright?” He asked. “I’ve been tryna’ wake ye. Ye scared me half to death.” His warm hand now resting on her cheek.

“I’m fine,” She said, confused, and she started to move to get up, but he gently took her shoulders in his hands to stop her.

“Hey, hey, ye jus’ stay there an’ rest awhile,” he coaxed. “That chill must have caught up with ye las’ night. I’ll make ye some tea.” Murtagh had already gotten a small fire going and he began pouring water into pot to heat. “Can I recommend the willow bark?” He asked, looking back at her to see if she got the joke.

But Claire had bolted up, still wrapped in her blanket and ran barefoot to the mouth of the cave. Falling to her knees, she vomited several times outside. Even after that, she felt dizzy and nauseated, her tired eyes strained against the early morning light. She knew that nausea was a normal part of pregnancy, but she also suspected that she was dehydrated and overtired. With all that was going on lately, she hadn’t been properly taking care of herself.

Weakly, she tried to stand up, and when dizziness began to set in, her vision blurred and her knees faltered, but Murtagh was right behind her. He steadied her with one arm, supporting her, helping her stand. She clung to him and slowly he helped her back into the cave.

When she was seated, he gave her a cup of cold water and she thanked him, drinking most of it. Murtagh watched her with concern, his dark eyebrows furrowed as if trying to work out a problem in his head. “T’isn’t a fever, is it?” He asked. Claire paused and considered lying for a moment, but then shook her head. “Those times we were stopping on the road, ye were being sick,” he said with surprise, “Lass, are ye expecting?” Claire did not deny it. She watched his face, unsure of what his reaction would be.

“Ye could have told me,” He said, visibly hurt. “Here I was pushing ye to keep up a pace on the road… performing tha’ routine. An’ Jesus, ye’ve done nothin’ but look after me these past two days!” His face was pained and he shook his head regretfully.

Claire sat next to him and took his hand in hers. “That’s kind of you,” she said, “But even if you knew, I wouldn’t have let you treat me any differently… Besides, it’s still early on.”

“Even more reason to be careful an’ look after yerself,” Murtagh replied quickly. A silence passed before he asked, “Does Jamie…?” And Claire frowned and shook her head.

“Well,” Murtagh said carefully, with a pause. “Now, I ken for sure,” he said, and their eyes met. “We will find him, Claire.” And he squeezed Claire’s hand. “We will find him because we have to… so tha' ye can tell him this news. So he can be a father.” And he pulled her into a side hug.

Claire felt her eyes well up with tears and she smiled, suddenly uplifted by Murtagh’s reaction. She hugged him back, and the despair and confusion she had felt the night before was now gone. Now, everything seemed to make more sense.

***

They ate a breakfast of porridge and elderberry tea. Murtagh stoked the small fire and they sat around it and warmed themselves and Murtagh told Claire stories of when Jamie was a boy. Claire smiled as she listened, every so often asking a question about young Jamie and his family, prompting the stories to continue. Claire’s heart felt warm and hopeful and she savoured the moment.

If Murtagh was anxious to leave, he didn’t let on. She got the feeling that he was allowing her to have this morning to relax and feel at ease. As he regaled her with stories, she realized she had never heard him speak for this long before. But he seemed content, happy to think of fond memories of Jamie, pleased to be able to bring the moments to life and share them with her.

Around mid-day, when their fire began to die down and they had no more firewood to keep it going, they decided it was time to move on. Claire still felt exhausted and a bit nauseated and likewise, Murtagh was still recovering, but they both had a job to do—one that could not be accomplished if they stayed here, warm and comfortable.

While Murtagh went to retrieve the horses, Claire washed up with the remaining warm water and then dressed. She was dismayed to find that the fabric of her dress was still slightly damp, but decided that it would dry out as they rode.

Outside the cave, Murtagh had returned with the horses and was struggling to saddle her horse with one arm.

“Murtagh, for heaven’s sake, let me help you,” she scolded, running to his side to help.

Reluctantly, he let her act as his other hand and help him lift and buckle the saddle. “Ye shouldna be doin’ any hard liftin’, Claire,” he said with a meaningful look.

“And you shouldn’t be either.” Said Claire sternly. “From now on, we work together as a team. Got it?”

Murtagh reluctantly nodded, but then reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve something. Claire thought back to yesterday as she sat mending his jacket and shirt while he slept.

“Got somethin for ye,” said Murtagh, and he pulled out a bundle of something wrapped in a handkerchief.

Claire looked up at him, puzzled. Murtagh smiled and gently placed the bundle in her hands so that it wouldn’t spill. Claire gently opened the cloth and found that it was filled with blueberries. The berries looked ripe and delicious, like candy. Her mouth watered and she hadn’t realized how much she had been craving something other than oats until that very moment. She looked up at Murtagh in delight.

He laughed, “Found 'em up on the hill when I was fetchin' the horses.”

“These would have been good in the teas I made for you.” Claire mused. “Thank you, Murtagh.” She felt moved by the thoughtful gesture and it reminded her of something she had been meaning to do. 

Murtagh gave her another nod and moved towards his horse. But before he mounted, Claire had retrieved the items from her saddlebag and was at his side again.

“Murtagh, you should have these,” she said, and in her hand she revealed the boar tusk bracelets, the ones he had made for Ellen. “Keep them,” she said taking a deep breath, unsure how her next words would be received, “For when you find a woman who is deserving of them. Someone who is good to you and treats you well.” In that moment, with all her heart, that is what she wished for him.

Murtagh watched her and his expression was soft. He came closer to her and put his large hands on hers. “I already ken someone who meets tha' description,” He said.

Claire looked back at him, his words stirring up emotion inside of her. Murtagh gently picked up the boar tusks and held them up, emblematically. “So how ‘bout this. From now on, we’re a team.” he said, repeating her earlier words. Separating the pair of bracelets, he placed one of them back into Claire’s hands. “We’re in this together.”

Claire smiled at him warmly in appreciation, unable to find words suitable for the moment. It was not just the gift, but the gesture that was significant. They each now possessed a tusk as a symbol of their unity, their lasting—albeit unconventional—friendship. They were a team now. This made it so.

Murtagh looked satisfied and mounted his horse with one arm. He still held a tusk bracelet in his hand and he looked at it, “Perhaps one day this will make it onto the wrist of a future Mrs. Murtagh Fitzgibbons, whoever the unlucky lass shall be.” He said with a laugh.

Claire was now atop her horse, riding beside him. She lightly pushed his elbow, a small reprimand for his self-deprecation. “Whoever she is, I’ll have to meet her first to make sure she’s worthy of you,” She said sincerely and Murtagh looked at her with interest. Claire shrugged, “It’s just part of being a team.” 

They smiled at each other and then quickened the pace of their ride, in hopes of making it to their destination before dusk.

Claire did not know what awaited them in the next town, but she knew what she desperately wanted. She pictured Jamie’s expression when they reunited, their first embrace and passionate kiss, their first moments alone together. The thoughts kept her going, reignited her focus.

Beside her, Murtagh looked equally determined and it filled her with hope. Together, they were strong.

Together, they would find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone, 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the final chapter!! 
> 
> What do you think? Murtagh and Claire being all teamwork and friendship bracelets... Please review and let me know your thoughts! Would you be interested in more stories about these two? Do you have a story you would like me to read? 
> 
> Thanks so much for taking the time to read this first story of mine! 
> 
> Love and thanks,  
Ana


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